God, i’m so fucking horny, bro. And nothing to be done about it, seemingly. Nothing to be done. Because i’m in this 'needing to fall into my lap' mindset. The perfect man is going to show up and just like show up. It’ll be perfect because that is a reasonable expectation to have.

been there What i need to do right now is go get a damn muffin or something. Please. I need a fucking peiece of food at the moment. Let me in there. Okay, ant, get in there, and go eat your breakfast downstairs. Bringin my laptop and my headphones too. Fuck yes. Here goes.

Okay, now i’m downstairs eating my damn muffin, and i got my damn flavored water next to me as well. So is somebody gonna clock my tea?

I saw Dr. S▒▒▒ coming out of the elevator as she headed to the cafeteria. She’s awesome. She’s honestly very kind and all that kind of stuff.

The question remains of whether i should go into work on monday. The question simply remains. I wonder about it, but the truth is i’m pretty sure i’m going to go ahead and come in. Yeah, i probably just will.

But maybe today should be my last day. Maybe it should be the end at this point. Are we just done? I’ll think about it, and perhaps i’ll consult the residents as well. No, that’s obviously unprofessional. But is professionalism even what we’re going for anymore? Shit, i don’t know, man. Maybe there's something to this thing of continuity and following through. But even today i was toying with the idea of calling in sick. Because in truth, like T▒▒ suggested, i am hungover.

(Just saw T▒▒ and gave him that male-coded head nod to say hey to him, and he smiled at me.)

I think i had some kind of dream or some kind of vision or premonition or something of going back home again this weekend and becoming a bitch who goes home every weekend. Maybe that will be me now. But no, i don’t think. Because this weekend is going to be one for the city shit.

Todooday when i woke up i considered the idea of getting some tea so i can have some caffeine to wake myself up and shit, but i don’t need caffeine. I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.

Skinny lady in blue scrubs walking by. She looks like she’s aging but trying to look on the younger side by wearing these fuckass chunky big heeled converse.

There’s that cute kid who was pushing the stroller around yesterday. Today he’s wearing black overalls and he’s walking and he’s doing a great job and he’s holding what appears to be his dad’s hand.

No messages. Dr. G▒▒▒ has not messaged back about coming to rounds. She said she’s free at 9:15 to round on this damn baby whose ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ fuckin uhhhhh what’s it called, ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ed. Yeah, her intestines..... Her small intestine ▒▒▒▒▒▒ed ▒▒▒ of the ▒▒▒▒ that the fuckass surgeons put into her. I’m like... wow. A lot of suffering that is just simply iatrogenic.

And here we rest back upon our thesis with medcine: this shit is not about alleviation of suffering. I was wrong when i went into this career thinking i would alleviate suffering. The goal of medicine is not to alleviate suffering but, simply, to prolong life.

Let me look up the word for grasping.

Upadana. Thats what it is.